


A Song

by Strawberry_day



Category: Victoria (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-05 15:45:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12192864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strawberry_day/pseuds/Strawberry_day
Summary: Modern-AU. A 30-year old Queen Victoria is getting married. The whole country is elated while her former private secretary, current Prime Minister Melbourne is avoiding anything related to it. He has his reasons, which are... warranted and to be revealed, later.





	1. 12 Days

“This is not the first time we’ve asked you for this... Prime Minister.”

The Queen’s wedding planner sat in the PM’s office, while Melbourne balanced his attention between suit jacket choices and studying his phone.

“Well, Philip...” Melbourne frowned at a text, “Apologies, but I don’t have the time today.”

“It’s Patrick, sir and Her Majesty has sent me over here twice with a list of approved songs for you to choose from. Sir Elton John is the musical gue--”

“Yes, I too read the internet.”

“Well, I’m afraid if a song isn’t chosen. There just will be no dance.”

"I'm quite positive... " Melbourne slipped a dark charcoal jacket onto his shoulders, "That her dance card will still be sufficiently filled.”

“Sir.” Patrick took a deep breath. “I beg you. We are 12 days out, please, could you choose.”

Melbourne snapped around and for the first time, firmly assessed the boy. A bookish, skinny young fellow in that hip way that had become the custom, thickly framed, smart glasses, a tailored tweed, perspiring heavily - like it was mid-July and not early spring.

“Patrick, is it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I'm immensely aware of how many days we are out.”

“Of course.”

“Leave the song choices with my assistant. She will choose.”

Patrick swallowed, “Am I to, um, am I to tell Her Majesty that you will not be choosing?”

William pursed his lips, “I suppose you do whatever doesn’t anger a bride.”

“Indeed, sir.” Patrick half bowed, ready to take his leave when a small, silver frame caught his eye. As Melbourne turned back to his tie rack, Patrick leaned in to examine the photo. It was a candid shot of a couple, dressed in Victorian-era garb, mid-laugh. The woman wearing a dark plum bonnet, her arm interlaced with the man's, staring adoringly up at him. A small spaniel trailing them from the side.

“You two were quite a couple.”

Melbourne snapped one of the ties in his hand, “Excuse me?”

“Just this - it’s from the Queen’s 21st.” Patrick smiled, “I’ve studied all the parties.”

“Your parents must be quite proud.”

Patrick swallowed and nodded, “Yes, well. I’ll leave the songs with your assistant, sir.”

“Wonderful.”

As the door clicked closed, Melbourne stood there, momentarily frozen. He rarely ever noticed the photo. It had adorned his desk for what, he thought, 8? 10? _Christ_ , almost 10 years _._ It'd been too intimate, she'd told him back then. The royal photographer privately gave it to her, along with the SD card, saying it couldn't be on record. But then, when the photo showed up on the front page of The Daily Mail, she'd gifted it to him. They could play it as a joke, lean into the gossip and it'd become a non-story. It was his idea and she'd agreed.

He ran a hand over his face and for the first time, put the photo away.


	2. One Week

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reveal.

“Ah, William. Haven’t seen much of you these days.”

Melbourne didn’t miss the inflection Emma put on “these days”. 

“Indeed, such an early spring we’re having - quite refreshing after such a dismal winter.”

Emma rolled her eyes, “I didn't mean the bloody weather.” 

Melbourne’s lips ticked up into a smirk. The Royal Wedding had allowed Melbourne to put his affairs with the Queen on autopilot. Within Victoria’s worldwind 3-month engagement, Melbourne had seen her just twice. Once was at a luncheon, in which he kept a room’s distance from her and felt the only fragile thing about her, those expressive blue eyes, tear into him so acutely that he feigned an emergency to depart. 

And the other, well that was the catalyst. Their last private audience, which, with two twists of a knife, erupted into a row so horrifically out-of-character for both of them, they didn't know how to come back from it. 

Thankfully, the wedding was a perfect distraction. No one knew, minus Emma, of course. 

As the Queen’s Private Secretary, Emma bridged the gap for them. And even she was too much for William. She was too close to it all, held too much news - one small aside, one small crack of information made William privately dissolve, so he stayed away unless formally summoned. 

Emma motioned for William to sit, “I sent for you because we are one week out.”

William pointed at a stack of unstable papers on Emma’s desk, “You know I’m trying to get this country to go paperless.”

“Do not try to pry me off topic.” 

“I didn’t know we were on one.”

“There is only one.”

William sighed and crossed his legs, “Really, what do you need from me?”

Emma smiled, “Oh, my requests could span the decades but today - I need your song choice.”

“I came to the conclusion that I am not the woman’s father, so there is no need for me to dance with her.”

“You can not do this. You’ll cause her a private scene.”

“As long as is it’s not a public scene, so be it.”

Emma scoffed, “Can you be this cruel? She is asking for so little.” 

“Yes, she's quite benevolent.” William let out a laugh and walked over to the broad windows behind Emma’s desk. 

Emma eyed him, “Is there something you'd like to tell me?” 

William shot Emma a sideways glance. 

“Because you realize, you can’t keep avoiding each other.” 

William took in a deep breath and looked out Emma’s windows. Her office overlooked a grassy, idyllic stretch of Hyde Park where people liked to picnic and read. Searching for nothing but trying to steady his breath - he spotted a woman, spreading out a blanket on the grass, her baby sitting in the center. 

“You always knew she would have to marry.”

“It’s much, much beyond that.”

He took another deep breath and watched the baby crawl up to the woman while she tucked the blanket’s sides under shoes and a basket to weigh it down, “How old do you think that child is?” 

“What child? 

The woman raised the baby up in the air, sunshine catching its fuzz of blonde hair. 

“The small one here.” 

“William, please tell me what is going on.”

“You must already know.”

“Must know what?” 

William watched the baby laugh and then turned to Emma, “That our child is due in late September.”


	3. The Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Going to the chapel and we're going to get angsty.
> 
> The song is "I Guess That's Why They Call It The Blues" by Elton John.

There were no more days. It was over. She was married.

Although roughly 20 minutes late, Melbourne showed. Emma sent a car that wasn’t allowed to leave without him in it. He raised a resolve from the dead. Slipped on a statesman’s cloak of impassivity for the TV cameras that circled him for a feeding. They all waited in vein for a fracture. A labored breath, a glistening eye. But he showed nothing. Prime Minister Melbourne, the Queen’s dearest, longest tenured advisor, smiled, shook hands, and made small talk. While the beating, dying part of him stayed locked airtight on Downing St., gasping like a madmen, subsisting on memories.

Melbourne thought he might make it out alive. That was until, he became William after five Macallan neats.

Prying Emma away from some dusty, living remnants of a long-ago German monarchy, he half-whispered, “I need an audience with Sir Elton.”

“Hilarious.” Emma replied and then firmly assessed him, “My god, you’ve been drinking.”

“It’s a wedding.” He looked behind Emma and spotted Patrick, the Queen’s wedding planner, “I’m celebrating.”

Emma tried to grab his sleeve but he was already glad-handing through the crowd.

“Phillip, it is lovely to see you, mate.” He clasped the young man’s shoulder.

“Prime Minister...” Patrick turned to eye Melbourne’s firm grasp on him, “How are you, sir?”

“Well, I quite messed up. I didn’t choose my song in time.”

“Oh - I was certain that you did not want to participate so I gave your -”

“Phillip.”

“Patrick, sir.”

“I need the next dance.”

“I’m sorry but I have an order-”

“This is your order....” Melbourne squeezed Patrick’s shoulder, “The Prime Minister has the next dance.”

“I assume you also have a song choice.”

“You’re a very quick student!”

Patrick sighed, “Thank you, sir.”

\---------------------------------------------

She was trying. Trying and trying.

But then, the song kicked in.

 

_“Don't wish it away,_  
_Don't look at it like it's forever”_

 

And he stalked up to her.

In a dark, perfectly tailored suit, a knitted plum tie, no tails, just a rebelliously degree less formal than everyone else.

She broke. She meant to laugh, a mirthless little wonder but it strangled in her throat - a small cry jutted out from her instead, making her eyes instantly wet.

“Your Majesty.”

She barely held out a quaking hand to him, when he seized it, fiercely wrapping his other arm around her waist.

It was much too informal. He should have kissed it, waited for her to present herself to dance.

 

_“And while I'm away_  
_Dust out the demons inside_  
_And it won’t be long before you and me run”_

 

“This song wasn’t on the approved list.” Victoria smiled brightly to the audience.

William pressed his fingers into her hip, “I made an executive decision.”

“You must pretend to like me right now.”

“Look at me.”

Victoria tucked her head lowered, “Please don’t.”

William gripped her hand and spun her, positioning their backs to the audience, “I'm resigning, Victoria.”

Victoria's head shot up, her eyes glassy. She opened her mouth and then promptly closed it.

He cleared his throat, “I must”.

“I should not be having this bab-”

“Do not complete that thought.” He took her wrist to his chest and really looked at her, she was so beautiful. Her hair half up, curled romantically on the bottom. Her skin warm. For the briefest of moments, he imagined that he'd been mistaken. This was their wedding all along. He swallowed, letting reality recapture him, "She will be born into love.”

Victoria almost caved forward. She had only told him the gender in one of at least thirty unanswered letters.

“You read them.”

“They could have gotten into anyone’s hands.”

“You must stay on. You must.”

It was true. Otherwise, how could he see them, how could he hold them.

“It's just three or so years. Just enough to prove it was real enough, that she’s not-”

He grabbed the side of her head, “Mine” he spat, “To prove that she’s not mine.”

He could feel her throat shiver, he slipped his hand to her neck, pressing his thumb nail into her skin, “I want to drag you into a drawing room...” He felt her swallow and pressed harder, “And just, just destroy you for the anguish you are causing me.”

 

_“And I guess that's why they call it the blues_  
_Time on my hands could be time spent with you”_

 

“We need.” She breathed heavily. “We need to break, smile at the audience. Smile at them.”

William let one of her hands go and they faced the audience, the usual mix of uncomfortable smiles and slight glares greeted them. This was their real dance of course, thought William, arouse intense suspicion and then put enough space around the situation to dampen it until they aroused it again. How long would they play this game? Would it ever end?

Victoria pulled him back to her, “Please meet me after I dance with my uncle.”

“There are countless uncles..”

“Just pay attention. Upstairs. That small private balcony straight above us.”


	4. 16 Weeks Ago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simply having a wonderful Christmas time, not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I've had trouble getting this chapter right, hence the delay. Also, just a trigger warning, this is some intense dominant Melbourne. It might not be for everyone.

Surrounded by Christmas gifts that needed to be wrapped and a growing assemblage of clothes that needed to be packed, Victoria sat biting her thumb nail and building a to-do list on her phone. She liked to buy her own gifts, she liked to get herself ready—Commonwealth trips were no exception, much to the chagrin of her staff.

A small knock on the door interrupted her list making.

“Ma’am” Skerrett, Victoria’s chief stylist, slightly opened the door, “The Prime Minister is here.”

“Oh.” Victoria looked up, “Send him in.”

Skerrett held the door open for William, “Apologies, sir. It looks quite a mess right now.”

“It’s all the awful hats.” Victoria fell backwards into a heap of clothes, “They are always pushing more hats.”

“You were terrific on the One this morning.” Skerrett winked at William and shut the door behind her.

William forced a smile. He should not have come here. He'd spent this past week before the Christmas break trying to showcase a strict stance against the xenophobic rumblings around the country. He’d been on every morning broadcast, late-night program, and hell, even a cooking show—trying to strike the right balance of charming and firm with the British public. But however insanely taxing his week had been—the topper was tonight’s run-in with Prince Albert.

Propping herself on her elbows, Victoria coyly smiled, “So when do you become the new Paul Hollywood?”

William didn’t reply. He unbuttoned the top button of his dress shirt and slowly started to drag his tie out of the collar.

Victoria watched him, “Did you just come from the House?”

He threw his jacket and tie on a pile of empty boxes and walked slowly towards her.

“You didn’t tell me you were going to Australia.”

“I didn’t?”

“I found out via your German.”

“Albert?”

Reaching her feet, he stopped and stood above her. His hands in his pockets, toying with some loose change. It was his first attempt to control himself. To force down an anger that had been coiling tighter and tighter over the past week and was now piping hot.

“I invited him for a couple of days. Not Christmas. His father is being awful, as usual.” Victoria cleared her throat, “Anyway, how was your day?”

He had no interest in her questions. He took a deep breath in and studied her, his eyes tracing from her cheeks to a messy ponytail, down along her sweater dress that was riding up her bare legs.

“Hello?”

Stepping to her side, he took his foot and firmly pushed against her thigh.

Victoria’s brows knitted in confusion, “Hey—”

He pushed harder, until her legs fell open to his gaze.

“My day was a test of patience.”

Victoria swallowed, “Well, you shouldn’t always get what you want.”

“No?” He tipped the end of her sweater dress up on his shoe.

“You should have to work for things.”

“So says the monarch.”

“I am packing _myself_.”

With that, he took his foot and pushed against her stomach. Victoria fell back and laughed, “Come on tour for Christmas.”

William gave her a grave look, “Do you think I can just take off?”

“What is wrong?”

William crouched down between her legs. With another deep inhale of breath, he took a thigh in each hand, squeezing them tightly.

Victoria propped herself up and tried to shut her legs, “Please answer my question.”

“No.” William shoved her legs apart.

She sucked in a breath, “You’re being difficult.”

“If you only knew” he leaned over her, forcing her down again, “How I think of you.”

“How you—”

William dipped one of his hands under her dress.

“I’d like it—if” Victoria struggled, “If you’d talk to me.”

“So you can continue to withhold information?”

“Albert is not what he seems.”

He spread her lips and sunk two fingers deep inside her, “How good to know.”

She shot up, her back breached from the floor. He caught her, his broad arms around her.

“William— _Christ_. What has—”

She tried to move back, to stop him from being so deep, but with one hand he grabbed the back of her head, dipping another finger deep into her sex.

“I’m glad, Albert has finally endeared himself.”

“Are you drunk?”

“Keep your voice _down_.”

“You want to act like a victim?” she punched at him, “When I have proposed to you twice!”

William caught both of her wrists in one hand and clenched them above her head.

“I have given up years for you, William!”

Letting her fall back, he took his free hand and quickly unzipped himself, he was throbbing.

“I never asked you for that.”

And with one full thrust, he was inside her. She tried again to brace herself against the deepness of him but he ground down into her. She groaned against his length.

“As I have told you—many times” William hissed against her ear, “I refused because you would be remembered for nothing else.”

“All you ever cared about—” Victoria clenched around him, “Was avoiding a scandal.”

William wrapped a hand around the back of her neck, they locked eyes and Victoria knew she’d hit a nerve.

“I begged you not to become PM.”

He bore down and fucked her without thought.

“Your ambition always trumped me.” She hissed. 

“I just have a sense of bloody duty”

“Liar—you're just _terrified_."

And with that he came into her, filling her jolt, after jolt.

For a minute, he laid there on top of her, heavy. Letting his mind catch up with his actions, until she shoved him, “Get off me.”

He fell back on his legs across from her—still steadying his breath.

“You are 30.”

“Don’t.”

“And I am an old man now—Albert has been loyal to you.”

“How bloody dare you.” Victoria bolted up, seething, “Fuck me out of jealousy and then try to pawn me off to him.”

William ran a hand down his face.

“I hope you have a delightful holiday, Prime Minister.” Victoria walked across the room, picking up his jacket and tie.

“Victoria.”

“No.” She threw his jacket at him, “You address me by my title and you leave— _now_.”


	5. The Night Of

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A full circle.

It was a clear night, the sky a bruised purple, perforated with stars. William had listened to her. He stood, hands braced on the balcony, overlooking the gardens, trying to will the twinkle of laughter and glasses below to lull him into a safe sedation. After what felt like an eternity, he heard a door shut behind him and paced, heavy footsteps start to approach. He checked his watch. 

“Leopold dances for 30 minutes?”

“I wouldn't know.”

William swung around. In front of him stood Prince Albert.

Victoria rushed into the room after Albert, “Come in here and shut the door.”

“What—”

“I'm about to explain—just please.” Victoria motioned for both of them to come into the drawing room.

“After you,” Albert said.

William paused, placing his hands up, “Whatever you two are selling—”

“I think you should listen to her.”

“I've spent the last 12 years listening to her.”

With that Victoria marched up to William and grabbed the lapels of his suit, dragging him inside, “Sit. _Down."_

Albert sat across from William, “Maybe, I should go first.”

William groaned and threw his head back.

Clearing his throat, Albert took a breath, “I’m gay.”

William lolled his head back to face them.

“My father knows, informally. Which made him, very formally, announce to me, via barrister, that I will be not be getting an inheritance or any titles should I not marry.” Albert looked at Victoria, “I hold Victoria dearly for she always knew, but kept my secret—and that is why I have promised to keep yours.”

“I told you Albert is not what he seems.”

“This in no way means I am a new fan of yours, Prime Minister. You should have taken much greater care of her, in all ways.”

“Yes, educate me on—” William stopped mid-retort and looked at her. A bride, a beautiful one, anxious, burdened with what he’d brought upon her. He gave her a sad smile and conceded, “You’re right.”

There was silence then, William got out of his chair and went to her. He met her eyes and knelt before her, “Please.”

Victoria let out a breath and gave him her hand. He studied it, as if this was the first time he held such a precious gift, and started to slowly peel her glove off.

“I have been a fool. Not today, not yesterday but all the days.” He looked up at her, “From the first day, I should have given myself to you.”

Victoria’s breath hitched, “William—”

“No.” He whispered against her palm, kissing it softly, “We will let it all come to light. Our daughter can not be born into these shadows.”

Albert shifted, “We came to an agreement. Victoria and I.”

“It is 2017. Your father will be annihilated by the press for his homophobia. Organically but if not, we’ll have a PR firm see to it. But us—” William got up and took both Victoria’s hands, “But for us, we will be engulfed by this.”  

Standing at her true altar, tears slowly taking over her cheeks, Victoria smiled at William, “I’ve never cared.”

With that William wrapped her, as if she was freezing, into his arms, and with one hand firm into her hair, hoarsely whispered, “I will arrange everything.”


	6. A New Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to tell the nation.

Buckingham’s ballroom was packed to the gills. Photographers lined the front, chewing gum, talking with reporters while major news talking heads sat shoulder-to-shoulder in the red velvet seats, speaking in hushed tones or valiantly tried to get a piece of information from the Royal staff. Emma had firmly told all staff to keep a calm appearance, that all would be well there was just a ‘bit of news’, but their precarious faith had been shattered once they saw the Queen, the Prime Minister, and Prince Albert enter the building together.

In an adjacent drawing room, William and Victoria sat together on a small divan while Albert held his stomach, pacing from the fireplace to the portraits and back again.

“Your Highness, please stop with the pacing.”

“I apologize. Unlike you Lord Melbourne, this is my first scandal.”

“Don’t start.” Victoria smoothed her skirt, “I feel like we are all waiting to be quartered.”

“Or waterboarded. Plenty of American press out there.” William tucked his phone into his suit pocket.

The door to the drawing room opened, Emma and Robert Peel entered. Peel who had only been briefed an hour before still had a blood pressure sleeve in his hand. The result of a doctor having to be called after Victoria and Melbourne told him the news.

“We are ready for you.” Emma said evenly.

Victoria took William’s hand, he looked down at it, “Vic–”

“No. We are walking in together.”

And with that, Emma and Peel led them into the ballroom.

 -----

Albert and Victoria went first.

The huge ornate red ballroom seemed to cave into them, a deafening silence that allowed their mic to pick up each labored breath before Victoria launched into their story.

They had a long friendship. They respected each other. They were not in love. Albert went next. He expressed his love for the UK. He revealed his sexual orientation. He announced the marriage would be annulled. And with that, he kissed Victoria’s cheek and stepped back from the podium, nodding to Melbourne.

The easy part was over.  

Victoria looked back at William and reached for his hand. Lens descended upon them, while the crowd struggled to stay quiet, a rising chatter threatened to break into something loud.

With at least thirty cameras centered on her, Victoria began.

“What I am about to tell you may change the way you think about me—you may even question my reign and my morality. But I am being utterly transparent with you now.”

Victoria paused, “I had a somewhat cruel, extremely lonely childhood. When William Lamb came into my life as a young adult it was the first time I had ever been treated as a person and not as some artifice to power. He was kind not withholding, honest not manipulative, intelligent not patronizing. I loved him immediately.”

William squeezed her hand, she continued, “I have proposed to him twice in my life. Both times he has declined me. But now, he has finally agreed to marry me and our child is due in late-September.”

The gasp was resounding.

Victoria turned to him. William cupped her face, wiping a tear from her cheek with his thumb, “You were perfect” he mouthed.

He fixed the mic and looked into the crowd with authority.

He smiled firmly, “Good morning.”

He stared and waited until he got what he wanted. Most of the crowd finally returned the greeting.

“First, I have good news for you. I am resigning.”

He paused and a true chuckle broke through the churning assemblage.

“Sir Robert Peel here, is your new man. He is a capital politician. I leave you in good hands. But as you can discern, I will not be leaving so much, as I will be transitioning into a new role. Do not worry. I will not be your new Prince. I am becoming a husband and a father.”

“Now” William looked at Victoria, “I have tried my damndest to avoid this day. I have tried to browbeat my love for this woman into submission for more than a decade. But I failed. And I will continue to fail, until my dying day.”

He faced back to the crowd, “I ask a favor. I understand what a story this is. And we must be held accountable. But I implore you to be kind to our child, they asked for none of this. They will be a true innocent. Thank you.”

The crowd let out a roar, the cameras lunged forward like a wave, bodyguards shouted for them to back away.

Victoria and William stayed at the podium, united, unmoved. Even their eyes didn’t wince from the onslaught of bulbs. He moved to whisper in Victoria’s ear and then took the mic once more.

“Excuse me. Let’s, let’s calm down here.” William put his hand up. “Please. Obviously this is not enough information for you. And I feel, transparency is the way we can repair this relationship.”

Victoria tapped his arm.

“Right, so since this is rather unorthodox, let’s double down.”

William moved the mic over to Victoria, she smiled, triumphantly, and said something a monarch never had before, “So, who has a question?”

And like a true politician, she started choosing raised hands from the teeming crowd below.

 


	7. Day 60

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A family at home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you, THANK you for the comments, kudos, and hits. This was my first ever fic and you all made me motivated to continue it beyond anything I had planned for it. I love this community so much.

As always, William could breathe at Brocket. Each morning, he rose and ran a 5k loop. He clocked it to return just as Alice stirred, her hero with a warmed bottle. Together, they sat in his office and watched the morning news or sometimes, he just sat in silence admiring her, skating his fingers over her ears, watching her eyelashes flutter in a milk bliss. Today was one of the quiet days. They were interrupted by Victoria, leaning on the door frame.

“You know, it would have never worked.”

“You know” William raised his head to his wife, “This is a quiet hour.”

“She is starting to look like you. The papers would have been on it like—” Victoria snapped her fingers.

He looked down at Alice. It was true. Dark, wavy hair, the shape of her eyes when she smiled. He took the bottle away momentarily, a recognizable flash of anger crossed her brow, she began to fuss.

“Oh, she is not all me.”

“But the good parts.” Victoria kissed the top of his head and went to sit in his desk chair.

William held these fragile moments of peace close. For Alice was now two months old and still the story surged. The cynic in him could not believe that the public’s fascination didn’t careen into anger. But in a world that was bereft of hope at the moment and in the home country of Jane Austen, a beloved young queen’s long-suffering love story was irresistible. Just last week he was told there there would be two TV adaptations and one Hollywood movie completed by the end of the coming year.

“I hope they don’t make you lecherous.”

“What?”

“In the adaptations.”

“I was just thinking about that. And of course, they will.”

“Alice, don’t listen to your father.”

“She will hear far worse about me. She won’t even need to log-on, her generation will have the internet in their retinas or something by then.”

Victoria shivered, “I won’t allow it. Also, speaking of things I won’t allow, I sent back the president’s gift.”

“The U.S. president?”

“I won’t have a thing from that actual lecherous man in this house.”

William eyed her, “Poor Peel’s gonna hear about it. You’re suppose to be endearing yourself to him.”

“Lord Melbourne, I thought you retired from politics?”

“You know, I was somewhat lecherous.”

Victoria held up her hand, “Please do not mention yourself in the same breath as the American.”

“Our daughter was not conceived in a bed of wine and roses.”

“I wouldn’t mind a bed of wine and roses.”

“Really?” His eyebrows ticked up, “When did you become so soft and sweet?”

She smirked, “I can do both.”

“Indeed, your Majesty has many gifts.”

“Today, I would prefer—” she took her foot and nudged his leg underneath the desk, “Soft and sweet.”

“Let me put my girl to bed.” He got up and started to pat Alice’s back.

“And then?”

“I’ll put you to bed.”

“What if I don’t want to go to bed?”

“You say soft and sweet and then the truth comes out.”

Victoria smiled wickedly, “I suppose I just loathe heeding your counsel.”

“You were much easier to manipulate when you were younger.”

She burst out a laugh, until she remembered the baby and quickly put a hand over her mouth but it was too late, Alice had started crying.

“Your Majesty, you got your wish.”

“What wish?”

“Soft and sweet is off the table. Head to our room.”

  
FIN 

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I've been creeping on this wonderful fandom for so, so long. I religiously read so many of you - that finally I decided to get an account. I've been kicking around this AU idea for awhile, multi-chapter (forgive me if some of my fandom wording is lame, I'm new to this). Please let me know what you think, if I'm good enough to hang and write some more.


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